


An Assortment of Han and Leia

by madame_alexandra



Series: Assortment Anthologies [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Mild Smut, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_alexandra/pseuds/madame_alexandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthology of short Han/Leia ficlets. Stories are unrelated to one another. There's nothing too painfully angsty in here; mostly fun, occasionally veers into the X-rated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Note - if you follow my blog on Tumblr, these are nothing new. I did a fic prompt meme, and I chose some to publish on other sites as well. The original quote that prompted the ficlet will be included at the beginning of each short story (in some cases, very short story).

**Prompt: “Hey, I’m with you. Always.”**

* * *

 

Han didn’t know what woke him up in the middle of the night, but in an effort not to think too much into it and thus be unable to go back to sleep, he rolled over and reached for Leia, intent on burying his face in her hair and falling right back into a nice, wholesome rest. His grasp, however, was futile, as he found the place next to him was empty.

He blinked at the vacant spot, and then rested his hand first on the pillow and then on the sheets – cool, so she’d been gone for a while. He glanced over at the chronometer on the wall – too early for her to be up for work.

Frowning, he sat up, checking to see if the ‘fresher light was on, and as it wasn’t, he got up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, rubbing his jaw as he left the bedroom in search of her.

He didn’t have to look hard; he heard the low murmur of the holovision as soon as he stepped into the hall, and he saw the glow of it as he made his way into the living room.

He stood in the doorway for a moment – she was curled up on the couch, hands tucked under her head, feet covered in a knitted blanket, intently focused on whatever she was watching – a film, he figured.

He cleared his throat and, when she glanced over at him, raised his brows.

She smiled half-heartedly, and turned back to the film.

“I can’t sleep,” she murmured.

He came into the room quietly, standing at the edge of the sofa.

“Late night movies isn’t your usual style,” he noted.

She shrugged.

“I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He made a dismissive noise, and then leaned over and tapped her feet. She lifted them, and he sat down on the couch with her, settling her feet in his lap and starting to run his hands in a lazy, soft massage over her legs.

Leia sighed softly and glued her eyes back to the screen. Han tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes heavy. He could easily fall asleep right here. In fact, he just might, since she seemed fine, she seemed –

_“Oh, Han, no one wants us to be together!”_

Han’s head napped up in confusion, and he looked around, staring at Leia – that hadn’t _sounded_ like her at all, and yet –

“What?“ he asked, taken aback.

Leia didn’t look at him, but she moved her head off her hand a little and pointed at the screen.

"It was that Leia,” she told him, yawning slightly.

Han stared at her, confused, and then slowly turned to scrutinize the screen. He narrowed his eyes, really focusing, and realized he was staring at…himself. Or rather, a glamorous, windswept, definitely-wearing-make-up version of himself – and next to holo-Han, was a holo-version of Leia, who happened to be at least three inches taller than the Leia next to him and was wearing a white dress that was more low cut than anything Han had ever seen on the real Princess.

“What the hell is this?” Han asked.

Leia nudged his hand with her foot, silently asking him to keep massaging.

“It’s one of those ridiculous female channel movies,” she murmured. “You know, the ones they churn out left and right.”

“About us?” Han asked, skeptical and horrified.

Leia nodded, her lips turning up.

“It’s called _The Princess and the Pirate_.”

Han, for once in his life speechless for a moment, could think of nothing useful to say other than –

“I wasn’t a pirate, I was a smuggler.”

Leia lifted her head and gave him a bemused look.

“Pirates loot and pillage,” Han told her seriously. “I got paid to transport things.”

Leia giggled softly, and laid her head back down. Han turned his eyes back to the screen warily, watching for a moment, his hands wrapped loosely around Leia’s ankles.

Holo-Han was holding Holo-Leia very dramatically. There also seemed to be a lot of mysterious wind, considering the setting of the scene was inside of a blasted ship. Han arched his eyebrows.

“Is this a dirty flick?” he asked.

Leia shivered a little.

“Gods, no,” she demurred. She’d heard there were one or two out there – but she’d never go looking for one, and she only knew about them because one was apparently cast so well, Mon Mothma had pulled her aside and quietly asked her if there was any chance it _was_ her. Leia still hadn't recovered from that conversation -- not only was it awkward to discuss her sex life with the Chief of State, it was doubly embarrassing to be asked if she had some point released a sex tape.

_“I won’t let anything come between us, Leia. I’ll fight for you.”_

Han cringed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbled.

“I think he sounds just like you,” Leia teased.

He shot her a glare, and she nodded seriously.

“Better looking, too.”

He pinched her ankle, and she laughed, yanking her foot away, and then shoving it back at him playfully.

“You’re up in the middle of the night watching this bantha – ”

“I like this one,” Leia interrupted smoothly.

“You’ve seen it before?” Han asked incredulously.

Leia shrugged – she’d watched it the last time she couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night, though Han hadn’t caught her that time. It amused her. And a very small, innocent part of her, still left despite all the bad in the past years, and still hiding in the back of her mind, liked the idea that people thought her life was an epic love story.

“Holo-Han is so gallant to Holo-Me,” Leia murmured blithely. “Why aren’t you as dashing as Holo-Han?”

Han shot an outraged look at the screen, where Holo-Han was now kneeling, professing his devotion, swearing to be…beheaded or…burned at the stake for her … or something –

_“They’ll do everything to tear us apart, Han!”_

_“It doesn’t matter._ _Princess – hey,”_ Holo-Han was standing up now, sweeping Leia in his arms and bending her back, like the cover of a seedy smut novel, _“I’m with you. Always.”_

Han stared at the screen blankly for a full minute, and then turned to Leia with such a withering, long-suffering look that she burst into quiet laughter, turning onto her back and looking at him affectionately.

“What happens at the end of this movie?” he asked dryly.

“Oh,” Leia sighed dramatically. “Well, Mon Mothma tries to marry me to a foreign Prince, but you kidnap me and smuggle me away to some distant planet, and tell me if I fall in love with you all over again, I have to marry you instead.”

“I _kidnap_ you?”

Leia nodded solemnly. Han stared at her dubiously, and she continued –

“And I do and then we get married.”

He blinked incredulously.

“You _marry me_ after I _kidnap_ you?” he asked.

Leia laughed quietly again.

“Whoever wrote this doesn’t know you very well,” Han muttered – technically, the only place he’d ever taken Leia against her will was to the _Falcon_ when he’d forced her to evacuate Hoth, but if he ever up and kidnapped her he was pretty sure she’d murder him.

Leia sat up, considering the scene on the holo again – it was fading to black. Han gave it a scowl.

“Are we gonna go have sex now?” he asked.

Leia lifted her brows and gestured between herself and Han.

“'We’ us or ‘we’ holo Han and Leia?” she quipped. She smirked. “Not them,” she said, pointing at the screen. “In this movie, I’m a virgin on my wedding night.”

Han laughed loudly.

Leia looked at him primly.

“I _try_ to sleep with you but you very _gallantly_ refuse to take my virtue until we’re _married_.”

Han almost choked on his tongue.

“In what world, Sweetheart,” he drawled. “In what world would I turn you down?”

Leia pointed matter-of-factly at the screen, where a new scene was opening, and Han scowled again, rolling his eyes. He wrapped his arm around her feet, lifted them, and placed them on the couch, shifting so he could crawl over her until his face was hovering inches from hers.

“Why do you like this _junk_?” he demanded under his breath.

She brushed her fingers over his jaw.

“Because it’s stupid,” she said, “and I don’t have to think,” she smiled, “and it makes me laugh.”

Han leaned forward to kiss her, and then pulled back, curious.

“Hey, you think people really expected you didn’t sleep with me until the wedding?” he asked, intrigued.

Leia laughed. She compressed her lips, smirked, and shrugged.

“Maybe Jan Dodonna,” she teased. She bit her lip. “I think Jan tells himself on a daily basis I’m still a virgin.”

“We’ve been married _three_ years.”

Leia shrugged.

“He’s a delicate old man,” she sighed solemnly. “It’s going to be a very terrible shock for him if I ever have a baby.”

Han smirked wickedly.

“Yeah,” he agreed smugly, “'cause it’ll be a little _Solo.”_

Leia shrugged.

“I don’t know Han, it might be that guy’s,” she said innocently, gesturing to Holo-Han, who was now back on screen piloting a ship while Holo-Leia sat in his lap – as if he could fly a ship with a full-grown woman _in his lap –_ much too distracting –

Han scowled, and leaned down to kiss her, seducing her attention away from the film – which only served to remind her that there was really no need for dramatized tales of romance on the holos, because she had the real thing.

* * *

_a/n - [throwing shade and glaring daggers directly at The Courtship of Princess Leia]_


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”**

* * *

 

Han Solo was a man with a dangerous amount of pride, and like any man who was intensely concerned with how generally macho he appeared to those around him, tended to ignore the advice of medical personnel because he had been somehow conditioned to think that shrugging off doctor’s orders was a mark of strength – and by extension, that continuing to be on his feet when he was supposed to be off of them was a clear indication of how badass and unstoppable he was. 

There was only so long he could carry on the charade, however – in the eyes of the younger recruits, he may have _looked_ extremely cool when he yanked an IV out of his arm and strolled out of the medical bay, shrugging off physicians and claiming no near-death experience with an avalanche was going to take down Han Solo, but it was bad for his health – which was exactly what Chewbacca was nagging him about.

Or at least, that’s the last thing he remembered Chewbacca roaring on about before he apparently blacked out.

Blinking hazily at the ceiling now, he was annoyed to find he was back in a hospital bed and there was a vaguely familiar IV needle back in his arm. He scowled at no one in particular, and reached over to the side to touch the IV – 

“Don’t you touch that needle, Han Solo.”

He froze, startled, and lifted his head – 

The Princess was sitting at the foot of the bed, looking oddly casual – see, she wasn’t just perched on the edge of the bed, she was literally sitting on it, just at his feet, her legs curled up, watching him. He figured she’d been watching him slowly come to.

Han lowered his hand, narrowing his eyes. He curled his fingers into a ball. 

“You were dehydrated again and your inner ear fluid is still off balance,” she warned, her expression serious. “Not to mention you really cracked your head on the ice,” she added grimly.

She paused, and then flashed a somewhat mischievous grin.

“Perhaps it knocked some loose screws back into place.” 

He scowled.

“What the hell am I doing back in this godforsaken – “

“You shouldn’t have left in the first place,” Leia interrupted primly. “That cave-in was brutal, and you lost a lot of blood with that injury – “

“Oh, I was fine,” he grumbled.

Leia looked at him dubiously – he and Luke, along with some of the other pilots, had ben excavating a new hangar when heavy ice caved in on them. Han had received a bloody gash on his thigh that bled slowly but steadily while they tried to dig them out – and he’d been pissed that Luke, who had only received a concussion, was cleared to leave the sick bay while they tried to keep Han for several more evenings. 

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be back here, would you?” she asked matter-of-factly. 

“I’m only here to make the Wook feel better,” Han bluffed.

Leia arched a brow. 

“I take it you think you came here willingly? Or you’re about to pretend you gallantly came in here to appease a concerned friend?” she goaded.

Han sat up, resting his weight on his elbows, suddenly extremely confused about how he had, in fact, ended up here – because he had been standing near the Falcon’s ramp, ignoring Chewbacca’s ranting, thinking about how blurry his vision seemed, and then he’d turned around because he’d heard – 

“Uhh,” he started. “Well, I was talking to you,” he began – because he’d heard her snap his name at him, and he’d turned to – “Hey, what happened?” he asked, suddenly distracted – her arm was in a sling – no cast, just a sling that held her arm sort of close, as if she’d – “You dislocate your shoulder?” he asked, taken aback. 

Leia considered him intently for a moment, and then pursed her lips. 

“ _You_ dislocated my shoulder,” she said.

Han looked abashed.

“I – what?!”

“You fainted,” she said, deadpan, “…straight into my arms.” She paused, her lips quirking up. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Han stared at her, slackjawed. 

She nodded at him solemnly – she’d been storming up to yell at him about something, and he’d turned around to face her, looked at her like he didn’t recognize her, and dropped like a rock. Chewbacca had been too shocked to react in time, so Leia – foolishly – tried to catch him, and he was twice her size and dead weight .

Hence the sling – it was a minor injury, but she planned on guilting him for a least a week. 

He glared at her sheepishly.

“I don’t faint.”

“You definitely fainted.”

“Men _pass out_ , Princess.” 

“Then I guess you’re not a man, because you fainted.”

The glare became more serious, and Leia sighed.

“Fine, you didn’t faint,” she allowed slowly.

He started to look satisfied, so she said – 

“You _swooned_.” 

“Cut it out, Your Worship,” he growled. 

She smirked at him.

“If I’d had some warning, I’d have had your smelling salts ready.”

He fell back, refusing to look at her, and grimaced – really, he’d passed out? And taken her down with him? Kriff – he lifted his head again, looking at her arm gloomily.

“Are you okay?” he asked grudgingly. 

She sighed dramatically. 

“I suppose,” she drawled. “Really, a dislocated shoulder is a small price to pay for the great Captain Solo fainting in my arms,” she said, batting her lashes dramatically. 

“I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance, Flyboy. But hey – really, next time you want my attention, just pull my hair or something,” she said, grimly tapping her sling lightly. “Less recovery time.” 

Han gave her a lopsided smile.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you know how hard it is to get your attention,” he quipped.

She looked at him curiously – intently – and he nodded at her – as if to say  _‘think about that’ –_ as if to say  _‘I've been begging for your attention for months, honey, throw me a bone.’_

She smiled a little. 

He smirked, and said:

“Want me to kiss that arm and make it better?”

She narrowed her eyes at him – idiot, smuggler flirt. 

“Don’t exert yourself, Han, kissing isn’t for the faint of heart.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Prompt: “Just once.”**

* * *

 

Leia closed her eyes and hung her head forehead, lifting her hand and shielding her eyes. She compressed her lips and said nothing, exhausted with the verbal sparring, and not at all in the mood. Han, unused to her giving up or ceding ground at all, faltered off slowly, the spark going out of his voice. He stood awkwardly in front of her, and then folded his arms, glancing around – he cleared his throat.

“Uh, Princess?” he asked slowly. “I wasn’t – teasin’ you any more than usual,” he began grimly, eyeing her bowed head carefully – sure, she’d seemed like she was in a bad mood today, but he was just trying to cheer her up – except now it seemed he might have misinterpreted, and defined her mood as _bad_ when it was really – _sad._

She didn’t say anything for a long time, and then she looked up, smoothing her hand back over her hair.

“Han?” she asked steadily, looking pointedly away from him off to the side. 

“Yeah?” he asked warily. 

“Would you mind leaving me alone today?” she asked. “Or just … stop teasing me. Just once. Take something seriously.” 

She came over to ask him for a favor, not to engage in a war of the words – not today, just not today. She even knew that today, he meant well, and he wasn’t in a cruel or bitter, mood, but she couldn’t stand it. She was cold, and she was tired, and she missed her family. 

He looked down at his feet, feeling like an errant schoolboy. He shrugged casually and nodded.

“Sure, Sweetheart,” he agreed.

She nodded at no one in particular, and took a deep breath, starting to speak again – and he cut her off hesitantly, barging in – 

“But hey, what’s different about today?” he asked.

Her jaw twitched tensely, angrily. 

“Why?” 

He shrugged again.

“So, next year, I won’t be a dick on this day.”

Leia turned her head and looked at him, her expression softening a little. She looked hesitant, and then she sighed, rubbing her elbows.

“It’s my mother’s birthday,” she said softly. She was silent for a long pause. “I…really miss her.”

Han swallowed hard, his jaw tightening – she never really mentioned how much she missed her family, and sometimes, he forgot to remember it must be terrible for her. He nodded a little, and gave her a small, understanding smile.

“Hey, nothin’ wrong with that,” he said gruffly, unexpectedly. “Wish mine was still around, sometimes.”

Leia looked at him with wide eyes, startled by the admission. Her expression was befuddled a moment, as if she’d never considered he had a mother, and then she stepped forward and touched his arm, squeezing.

He put his hand over hers, and squeezed back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Prompt: “Don’t you dare throw that snowball – goddamnit!”**

* * *

 

Though she’d had no siblings, Leia had grown up with a host of carefully selected playmates; her nursery was shared not only be high born Antilles and Panteer children, but by the children of high-ranked political operatives, like Winter Retrac, and the occasional child of a beloved servant or governess, like Neena Volantis. Because she had no shortage of pseudo-siblings to get into trouble with, and because as the Princess, she’d been indulged slightly more than she should have and was often given free reign of the palace as a playground, she’d been raised hearing various forms of _‘It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye!’_

In fact, that particular scolding had been leveled at her so many times that she was often acutely aware of just when a lighthearted game had gotten completely out of control – like the time Winter had broken her nose sliding down the grand staircase bannister, or the time Lynce had bitten through his tongue when they turned her father’s office into an obstacle course.

Leia prided herself on being the one who was able to put a stop to shenanigans before they got out of hand – at least, she had until she met one infuriating, absolutely maddening, insufferable, completely obnoxious, full-grown, stupid, smirking, fiend called Han Solo.

He had some outstandingly frustrating way of provoking her to unprecedented levels of outrage.

The incident could have been avoided if it weren’t for his seriously misguided attempts to, quote:  _make sure she was having some fun._

It had all started when Luke politely – because everything Luke did around Leia was polite – asked her if she wanted to participate in an organized snowball fight. To which Leia responded no, she did not – not only because it was cold enough without having polluted, freezing snow chucked at her, she felt it was best to preserve some modicum of dignity if she wished to be seen as an effective leader.

Luke interpreted her declination as _‘Leia doesn’t want to play.’_

Han interpreted it as _'Leia wants me to assault her covertly with snowballs until one hits her smack in the back of the head and makes her so angry she has to play just to get me back.’_

Which is exactly what he did, and it got exactly the reaction he wanted – Leia abandoned her serious, dignified work to storm across the no-man’s land that had been designated in the hangar, steal a host of snowballs, and turn a well-regulated game into a personal vendetta against one Corellian.

Said Corellian was delighted with the turn of events, which only served to make her angrier, particularly since he was extremely good at dodging the volley of meager snowballs she threw at him – so she retreated, he assumed in defeat, and went about finding a hiding place where she could leap out and ambush him.

Unfortunately, her hiding place prevented her from noticing that General Rieekan had stormed in and broken up the game, shouting at all of them to go back to their posts and act like they had some damn sense – “ _Do you think you’re going to defeat the Empire with blasted snowballs you juvenile bunch of –” ad swearing, ad swearing_ – and the thing was, Rieekan wasn’t at all expecting the Princess to have been involved in all of this anyway, so he was still swearing with every ounce of military roughness in his body when he saw movement and assumed she was just another pilot ignoring his orders –

Turning on his heel, he bellowed: “Don’t you dare throw that snowball – ”

and he was considerably startled when, despite his tirade, a final snowball came flying beautifully across the hanger and struck Han Solo directly in the face.

“Goddamnit!” Rieekan shouted, rounding on the offender, and then stopping short when he realized he was screaming at Princess Leia.

She shrunk back a little – not out of fear, but utterly mollified to be the one called out, publicly – the one who had really stepped over the line – and she covered her mouth, unable to even enjoy the sputtering, outraged shock Han was currently writhing in.

“Princess,” Rieekan began, stiff and apologetic and uncertain.

Leia winced, and then stepped forward, putting her hands behind her back and standing at ease. She gave Rieekan a pointed look that said – _I wanted to be here, Carlist; treat me like a soldier._

“Commander Organa,” Rieekan started, and Leia fought the urge to laugh, because he sounded so ridiculous – he was trying to treat her like a soldier, but he couldn’t shake years of deference to her status, and he sounded mortified instead of commanding.

“Yes, sir?” she responded, and it was unintentionally the most mocking thing she’d ever said in her life.

Rieekan floundered for a moment and then glared at her mildly.

“Good arm,” he said succinctly, and turned on his heel, moving on.

Leia smirked, and Luke through a gleeful look at her, which gave her a small moment of triumph before Wedge Antilles cleared his throat uncertainly.

“Um, Princess?” he started.

“Yeah – ” broke in Wes Jansen with a wince, “Uh, what did you pack in that snowball?”

Taken aback, Leia looked over, and Wes was pointing at Han, who had begun bleeding profusely. Luke gasped and scrambled over, followed by Leia.

“I didn’t pack anything – ” Leia started.

“It was a ball of solid ice, Your Worship!” Han griped. “Were you trying to kill me?”

Leia winced – she hadn’t been paying attention when she grabbed a handful of snow and packed it, whereas the original snowball fight teams had carefully avoided packing ice into their weapons.

Han clutched his nose, and turned his head to the side to spit blood out of his mouth; Leia covered her mouth and gasped, apologetic.

“You just wait, Princess,” he said darkly. “Now it’s war.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Swearing**

**[no prompt]**

 

* * *

 

She was busy trying to inventory supplies, and he was evidently busy being an insufferable annoyance, prowling around her while she carefully catalogued data, talking incessantly in her ear like an attention-deprived toddler.

“C'mon, Your Highness, answer me.”

“For the last time, _go away_.”

“Huh-uh. Nope. Not until I get an answer.”

Leia slammed a container of something back onto a shelf and pointedly ignored him, stalking down another corridor to inventory something else.

“It’s a simple question, Princess, don’t know why you’re strugglin’ with it.”

“It’s an idiotic and irrelevant question, Captain – don’t you have anything to do?”

He put his face close to hers.

“Not really, unless you wanna come back to my cabin with me.”

She elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He backed away, grinning. Insufferable, he was so insufferable, and he came up with the most pointless ways to bug her – so really, they shouldn’t bug her, they should glance off her without affecting her at all, but _Sith_ if he wasn’t the most maddening, irritating, frustrating –

“I’m dyin’ to know, Sweetheart.”

She was silent as she slammed something around pointedly, examining shelves, cradling a datapad in her hand. He must have hit a new level of bored if he had really decided he was going to spend the entire afternoon badgering her about –

“Why don’t you ever swear?” he repeated, goading her.

She grit her teeth, biting back some slightly scandalous words her mother had told her when she was sixteen – _swear words are for the bedroom, not the board room, Leia, and don’t you forget it._

“You _look_ like you want to swear a lot,” Han drawled, following her, dogging her footsteps everywhere she moved – even when she strode into a bustling area of the supply room, looking around for her next aisle. “Do you know any swear words?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Real swear words, or Princess swear words?”

“What, pray tell, are Princess swear words?”

“Well, you know, like how you called me a puffed-up Nexu the other day,” Han snorted.

Leia flushed slightly, compressing her lips – she turned away from him, but he fell into step beside her.

“Swearing feels good, you know,” he inveigled. “You could get some of that tension out.”

“I deal with my tension in other ways,” she retorted, rethinking her words the moment she said them.

He whistled.

“You set me up for that one so well I’m not even going to say anything,” he snorted suggestively.

Leia glued her eyes to her data pad. She hadn’t meant – she sincerely hoped she wasn’t blushing.

Han pointed at her, wiggling his finger, obnoxiously pulling some of her hair out of her braid. She reached up and slapped his hand away, glaring at him.

“What do I have to do to get out of this idiotic conversation?” Leia demanded, annoyed.

She senses a few people starting to look at them – great, another public argument that was going to be the talk of the base – she ought to set a Wampa loose in the mess hall so they’d all have something better to do than ogle her and Han –

“I want you to give me a good reason why you never swear!” Han retorted, folding his arms.

She gave him a cold look, and he tapped his foot seriously.

“Well, Your Worship?”

He grinned wickedly.

“I can _teach_ you to swear,” he offered. “In fact – and this involves the thing about you joining me in my cabin – I can probably make you start swearing – ”

Leia shoved her data pad at his chest forcefully and stood toe-to-toe with him, tilting her head up to glare at him seriously, her hands pressing against his chest, seeming to burn through the datapad.

He stopped talking abruptly.

“Can you, Captain Solo?” she asked. “Can you make me start swearing?”

He looked startled.

“Uh,” he fumbled. “Yeah,” he said, regaining himself a little. He took her elbows in his hands, and smirked. “Yeah, I can, I can make you see Gods and start speakin’ in tongues.”

“Swearing in every language,” Leia said, softening her voice.

He nodded, transfixed – _what the fuck is happening_? He thought.

“You know, Han, I think you’re right,” she said, lowering her voice even more, and making it breathy.

“What? I am?” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I am,” he corrected smugly.

She nodded, her eyes wide and sweet – too sweet, actually –

“In fact I – well there’s something I’ve been wanting to say – since you – ”

“Spit it out, Sweetheart,” he interrupted.

She pushed the data pad harder into his chest and rose on her feet a little, grabbing his chin with one hand and pulling his ear down to hers. He waited a moment, only to flinch away from the sheer volume of her speaking directly into his ear in an unexpectedly loud voice:

_“Go fuck yourself.”_

She snatched the datapad back and turned on her heel, storming off, leaving him standing in the middle of the supply room, with more than a few eyes on him – none of them watching the Princess storm off, but all of them clearly experience varying levels of disbelief regarding her heretofore uncharacteristic language.

He looked around for a minute, and then caught sight of Luke standing somewhere over to the left, his eyes wide, Wedge Antilles standing next to him with a gleeful expression on his face.

_What did you do?_ Luke mouthed – but Han just shook his head a little, and started to grin – smug, because even if that wasn’t exactly the way he had planned to make her swear at him, he _knew_ she had it in her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Prompt: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”**

* * *

 

The trip to Bespin inevitably resulted in Han discovering numerous previously unknown sides of Leia – living with her in close quarters for so long obviously precipitated an as of yet unprecedented level of closeness, and that wasn’t just because they started being close in as physically human a way as possible. 

It meant he saw Morning Leia, Uninhibited Leia, Careless Leia, Leia-who-stubbed-her-toe-and-started-swearing-in-Chandrilan, Leia-who-sung-in-the-shower, Confused Leia, Sleepy-slash-disoriented Leia, Drunk Leia – an absolute blessing to the galaxy – and, soon – Hungover Leia.

Han was particularly curious about Hungover Leia, because despite having met Drunk Leia several times – well, it was really more like ‘slightly responsibly buzzed Princess of Alderaan’ – he had never been around to experience the morning after – and this time was different – _and_ he was sure there was going to be a hangover because he’d forgotten to get water for either of them despite how much they’d had to drink.

Also, she fell asleep insisting she was going to sing him a lullaby, which was really just a lot of incoherent murmuring in his ear.

But hey, they had to pass the time to Bespin somehow. 

Chewie was probably less than thrilled about the carousing, but he could usually be persuaded to put up with it if he was just reminded that Leia’s life had pretty much sucked for the past three years, and she deserved to be allowed to mimic Shriywook in the aft hold if she wanted to. 

As it were, Han had woken up with a slight nuisance of a headache, but being accustomed to somewhat heavy drinking, he was content to just lay listlessly in bed until the pounding subsided to more of a dull hum. 

He occupied his time laying on his side staring at the sleeping Princess next to him, who was buried under all of the covers – which she had stolen from him in the middle of the night – as well as her mass of loose, tangled hair. 

He thought it might actually be the deepest he’d ever seen her sleep, so once or twice he’d checked to make sure she was actually conscious and not in an alcohol induced-coma. He’d have a hard time explaining that to the Rebellion. 

He leaned back a little as she shifted, and reached out to run his hand over her side lightly, watching her stir, reach up to pull covers off her head, and then feel around for the pillows.

She lifted her head a bit, hair hanging over her shoulders and around her face, and then after a moment, she pushed her hair back, holding it in her hand and making a soft noise of confusion. 

“Where…am…I?” she asked faintly. 

“The _Falcon_ ,” he said. 

The suddenness of his answer and the deep, masculine tenure of his voice obviously shocked her, because her muscles jumped under his hand. He drew his hand back slowly just in case she was spooked in a bad way, and she swiveled her head to look at him, blinking hazily. 

“Han?” she asked.

“In the flesh.”

She sat up a little more and then looked him up and down, noting that he was clearly completely unclothed. She drew back, seemingly affronted.

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” she asked regally.

Han grinned – ah, so that was interesting; Hungover Leia was synonymous with Airhead Leia, which was something he genuinely would otherwise never believed existed. 

“You’re in my bed,” he retorted. “So,” he nodded at her suggestively. “Same question.” 

Leia looked down at herself and arched her brows. She laid her head back down and sighed, groaning, and reached up to rub her forehead.

“I vaguely remember agreeing to this,” she murmured dramatically. 

“You did,” Han told her seriously, “more than once,” he went on solemnly, “enthusiastically.”

She sighed, and laid there for a moment, so quiet and still he thought she might have fallen back asleep. Then, she laughed softly, her nose wrinkling in a way that he could really only describe as – adorable. 

Leia inched closer, keeping her eyes closed – the room was spinning less if her eyes were closed. 

“Hmm,” she murmured, burying her nose in his arm. “I must trust you a lot.”

“I like to think so,” he retorted.

She burrowed closer and sighed dramatically – with any luck, nothing was wrong with the ship today and she could just stay here and sleep this off forever, because her head was killing her – and last night was fuzzy, but in a very warm, good way, like for once in her life she’d acted like a someone who could afford to have fun a little recklessly. 

She brushed her lips against his shoulder. 

“I had…a dream that we were having sex in the cockpit,” she murmured. 

He pushed her hair back from her hair and bent to kiss her jaw roguishly, lingering near her ear.

“Wasn’t a dream.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Prompt: “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”**

* * *

 

Leia rarely sought to end her arguments with Han by running away from him; in fact, she usually stuck around long enough to ensure she was considered the winner, and they mutually stormed away from each other, or were interrupted by someone and persuaded to drop what they were fighting about.

This, though, had become to deep too fast; at some point, she realized they clearly weren’t merely fighting about his unorthodox flight path back from Ord Mantell, but something else, and she’d sought to put and end to the rising volatility by spinning on her heel and cutting him off.

Han, having none of it, followed her, though judging by how quick his footsteps had been, he’d stood there stunned for a moment before running after her – regardless, she made it all the way to her bunk room with him snarling at her and refusing to back down – she even made to slam her door in his face, but he smacked his palm hard into the door and forced it open – and he was stronger than her, and she clutched the door helplessly, glaring at him, her face- half hidden.

“Back off, Han.”

“You’re not gonna just walk away from this one, Princess,” he spat, holding the door firmly.

She bared her teeth and took a deep breath, mustering something to say –

She came up short thought – how had this happened? It had gone from her yelling at him for choosing a risky route through hyperspace – yes, they needed to get off Ord Mantell and out of the area fast, but he had gone through heavily trafficked Imperial lanes – and it was stupid – and it was reckless and Leia had been terrified –

“You owe me an apology,” he snapped at her.

“I – an _apology_?” she shrieked, releasing the door and stepping forward. “I don’t give a damn if we got here safe, we could have been tailed, we could have been seen – I will not apologize for calling you out on your asinine disregard for this Rebellion – ”

“That’s not it,” he barked, interrupting her. He put his hand out, pointing at her sharply.

“Then what are you –

“You know damn well what I’m talking about!” he shouted.

She looked away sharply, swallowing hard, her own angry accusation echoing in her ears –

_“You’d hand me over to Vader if it would save your own ass, wouldn’t you?”_

Han clenched his fist, pushing it into the door.

“I had to do something,” he snapped, “and the best choice was the unexpected one – that bounty hunter didn’t think we’d take that route in a thousand years – I know you don’t think I put myself between you and a bullet on Ord Mantell just to sell you to Vader!”

His eyes flashed as he watched her throat move tensely – he’d only been clipped, because the bounty hunter’s weapon had inexplicably malfunctioned at the exact moment Leia had screamed and tried to push Han back out of the way – and maybe all of this frenzied fighting was ensuing from the fact that both of them, mere hours ago, had exposed the deeper nature of their feelings by trying to protect the other even if it meant their own fatality.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Leia lashed out finally, her throat constricted.

“You’re damn right,” he fired back.

He lowered his hand, and looked at her tersely, his brows furrowing in a deep scowl.

“I’m sick of this,” he said gruffly, taking a step forward. “I’m tired of it, Leia – ”

“Of what?” she snapped. “If you don’t want me berating you, then stop doing things without discussing them with me when it’s my life on the line, too – ”

“Sweetheart, I could bring you the Emperor’s head on a platter and you’d still find something wrong with me because this doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with me – it’s _you_.”

She sucked in her breath, her heart stuttering.

“I take one step forward with you and you spend the next week dragging me three steps back because Gods _forbid_ you allow yourself a little human emotion – ”

“Han – !” she shouted – she couldn’t hear that, not from him of all people, he knew she was more than that –

“You’re not stupid, Princess, and you’re sure as hell not blind, so instead of having a full-on panic attack when it occurs to you that you might actually like me, why don’t you sit down with your internal committee and give it a chance?”

“Like you like – what are you – Han, you’re out of your – ”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” he said, lowering his voice, “and it’s always right _after_ a look like that when the claws come out – it’s not my fault you can’t handle that you’ve got it bad for some lowlife like me, but stop taking it out on me – ”

_“If you know I can’t handle it then why are you screaming at me about it?”_ she interrupted, silencing him with both her volume, and the impact of what she said.

She compressed her lips, and closed her eyes – his expression looked grim, suddenly, and hurt, and she rushed to try to put some words together –

“It’s not – Han, I don’t think you’re a lowlife,” she choked quickly – she hadn’t meant to confirm that, but maybe he was …. on to something concerning how starkly horrified she was by the idea of letting herself feel.

She shoved her forehead tiredly against her door.

“I _know_ you notice,” she confessed, her words trembling. She always looked at him a little too long, a little too openly, and he always caught her – and he, invariably, came up with something flippant or lewd to say, and lately, she wasn’t in the mood for it; she started to feel for him, and he never took anything seriously, and she needed to be taken seriously if she was going to do this – because Sith knew the high command was going to think it outrageously foolish.

“You never say the right thing, Han,” she sighed, irritated. “You make me feel like a silly little girl.”

A silly, foolish little Princess with no homeworld and a ridiculous, unlikely crush.

He ran his hand over his face, and gave her a flat look.

“ _You_ don’t either,” he threw back at her frankly. “This isn’t politics, Your Worship, it’s passion.”

Leia compressed her lips tightly, her eyes darkening.

“Passion wasn’t covered in my education.”

Han stepped forward and slid his arm around her waist in a bold, swift movement, his other still holding the door open. She held her breath, and he took his hand off the door, resting it against her neck, tilting her head up. She stared at him, holding her breath – which wasn’t her best idea to date, because when he lowered his head, pressed his lips to hers, and kissed her, she really couldn’t breathe.

She half expected him to pick her up, kick the door shut, and throw her on the bed – the way action heroes always did in the holos – but he just kissed her, his hand running down to her shoulder, then back up to her neck, his arm tightening around her waist – until he finally stopped and pulled back, looking at her almost hesitantly – apprehensively.

He loosened his grip on her, and, unprepared for the extra support, she lost her balance and put her hands on his chest, her forehead hovering near his shoulder.

Her knees –

He put his hand back on her hip, and tilted his head, eyeing her for a moment, and then laughing quietly.

“ _Really_ , Sweetheart?” he drawled. “Your _knees_ buckled?”

She was sure she blushed from head to toe, and for amoment, she kept her head bowed, her fingers playing with the edges of his vest. She looked up, finally, and swallowed hard.

“This isn’t easy for me, Han,” she said quietly.

He might have been spot-on with his analysis of why, recently, she had become even more combative with him than she had been at first, but that didn’t mean she could let go of everything that was holding her back in one instant, just because of a kiss.

He seemed to have lost his taste for the arguing, and he surprised her by nodding. He ran his hand over her hair, kissed her temple, and stepped back, leaning against the door frame.

“Look,” he started, “Leia,” he went on tiredly, dropping the irreverent nicknames. “I can’t take this much longer.”

She took a deep breath and nodded – of course, she couldn’t expect him to put up with endless abuse simply because she couldn’t get a handle on herself. It didn’t help that – well this whole shot-to-hell mission on Ord Mantell just seemed to reiterate that they had their own battles and their own worlds to live in, and the middle of a war was no place for romance.

“You’re going to leave,” she said – and he didn’t know if it was a question, or a statement, or some kind of plea for him to correct her, but he just stood there, looking at her guardedly.

“Yeah,” he agreed finally – because of Ord Mantell, because of Jabba, because this cat-and-mouse game was no good for his nerves, his heart, or his soul.

He turned to go, and then reached up to rub his jaw, turning back to look at her pointedly.

“Unless you give me a reason to stay.”

He did leave, after that, and Leia stepped into the doorway to watch him go, leaning against the frame, her arms wrapped around herself tightly. She thought about going after him, but she wasn’t ready to make promises to him she couldn’t keep, and this Rebellion was the world she knew.

So she stayed where she was, and wondered if he’d change his mind.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW / Mature

**Prompt: “Don’t you ever do that again!”**

* * *

 

Han’s inability to comport himself with grace and finesse at formal functions was legendary. It was well known to her and it was part of why she loved him – being with him meant no protocol, and no standing on artificial ceremony.

It was also why she rarely requested he be present at high end events – save them both a headache – and why she was unsurprised when he had already started slouching and losing control of his expression halfway through the first speech at Mon Mothma’s inauguration.

This celebration was monumental, it was important, it would be a political and personal statement if he wasn’t by her side, and so she ordered him to put on a suit, escort her, behave like a gentleman, and if he got bored, find a way to distract himself and look alert. 

Complete scoundrel that he was, he took that last directive to an unprecedented, and entirely inappropriate level – in that during the third paragraph of Garm Bel Iblis’ rousing, conciliatory speech about the future and Mon Mothma’s responsibility as new Chief of State, Han’s hand wandered around under the raised table they were seated at and found its way onto her thigh. 

That initial move wasn’t necessarily verboten – or unwelcome – and Leia flicked a nonchalant glance at him before turning back to listen to the speaker. She thought nothing of it, until the hand pulled the material of her glitzy, silky gown up, baring her knees, and then boldly slipped between her legs.

His fingers brushed against the hem of her lingerie at the apex of her thighs, and she jolted her chair forward abruptly, forcing herself closer to the table to make sure the table cloth covered what was going on. The scraping noise echoed, and a few people glanced at her. 

She held her composed expression, and after a moment, turned her head, catching his eye menacingly. 

_No,_ she thought, _don’t you dare._

He moved his chair just slightly towards her for a better angle, and looked away with a shit-eating smirk on his face. He hooked his fingers into her panties and held them aside, pressing his thumb against her. 

With his other hand, he picked up his wine glass and looked at the audience. 

Leia parted her lips, her mind going completely blank for a few seconds – she was so caught off guard, so completely blindsided by the audacity – and no amount of debutante training was going to tell her how to handle this, because in all her dignified lady lessons no one had thought to instruct her on what to do when her lover decided to – 

There was a smattering of applause for something Iblis said, and Leia was grateful for it, because Han twisted his thumb in a light, teasing gesture that caused her to jerk her knee and bang it hard against the underside of the table. 

Despite the noise cover, Dodonna and Rieekan, both seated near her, turned and gave her looks, and on the other side of Han, Luke leaned forward with a worried expression.

Leia feigned a small smile and lifted her wine glass, burying her face in it for a moment. Han moved his hand again and she almost inhaled the whole glass, saving herself from choking only by starting to cough inelegantly. 

Dodonna rested his hand on her shoulder. 

“Princess,” he said quietly. “Are you alright?” 

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, through tight lips, setting her glass down with a surprisingly steady hand.

She put her elbow on the table and tired to focus on Iblis, but Han was really – he was really – she turned her head sharply to the side, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable, and gave him the iciest look she could muster – she was the entire planet of Hoth, glaring at him – and he just met her eyes innocently. 

Leia tried to shift away from him – no, his fingers caught her, and she had to bite back a gasp; she pressed her legs together to try and still his movements – no, even worse idea – she bent forward at the waist and put her forehead in her hand, actually giving in to a shiver. 

“Kest,” she swore – she thought it was extremely quiet, but evidently both Generals heard her.

“Princess Leia?” Rieekan asked, his voice low. 

Leia sensed more people were looking at her now – she gave a cursory glance through her fingers and noticed Mon Mothma herself, in a place of honor, looking over with veiled curiosity. 

“Princess?” Dodonna asked. 

“I’m,” she began, with no idea what she was going to say – and she didn’t finish, anyway, because she was afraid if she tried to talk her voice would come out in that husky, breathy sort of moan Han usually elicited. 

In a rush of adrenaline that begged her to save some face, she decided it would be best if she pretended she was crying – and Han was torturing her slowly enough that tears were not entirely difficult to summon.

“I’m just so happy the Empire’s gone,” she choked out, managing to sound overcome with tears. 

Dodonna exchanged a perturbed glance with Rieekan – the Princess, publicly crying over…because she was happy?

Han leaned over, putting up a show of concern. He reached around and moved closer, resting his free hand on her shoulder, giving him a prime angle to finish her off.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asked, his face the picture of worry, his voice full of asinine, mocking, smug – 

She leaned forward and put her head on his shoulder, managing to get a look at Luke’s seriously worried expressing before she buried her face in his shirt. Han ran his knuckles over her with just the right pressure and she bit him – hard. 

But, at least she was quiet. 

“How strong is this wine?” she heard Dodonna asked Rieekan warily, obviously completely baffled at Leia’s uncharacteristically emotional behavior. 

Leia was quick to lift her head, forcing herself to breathe normally when she was completely out of breath. She made a show of patting Han’s arm affectionately, but dug her nail hard into his shirt until it hooked into the flesh underneath – warning him - _\- I will kill you, Solo._

She straightened, turning the face the front, felt Han’s hand twisting in her gown for a moment, then his fingers running lazily over her thigh before he settled it back in its proper place and leaned back, picking up his wine again. 

She touched her palm to her flushed face, staring straight ahead, her heart slamming into her ribs. She refused to make eye contact with him through the rest of the speech – she refused to look to her left and see the Generals, to her right and see Luke, her expression was taut, obscuring the mortification – and slight thrill – that was raging through her blood. 

When Iblis’ speech ended, and Mon Mothma approached the stage to a standing ovation and cheers of triumph, Leia held her hand in a vice-like grip on Han’s shoulder before he could stand up, pinning him down in his seat so she could lean down and put her lips close to his ear.

She kept a pleasant smile on her face, so to all who were watching it looked as if she were saying something kind, or perhaps romantic, but in a steely voice, she whispered harshly – 

_“Don’t you ever do that again.”_

Shrugging her hand off and standing up, he put the offending hand to his lips, and blew her a kiss. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Prompt: “Do you…well, I mean…I could give you a massage?” / “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”**

* * *

 

Han had been watching Leia sulk around stiffly and uncomfortably for the better part of a week now, and for some reason, it was grating on his nerves. It wasn’t that she was complaining about their situation – she wasn’t even berating him or making passive-aggressive snide comments, she seemed to just be silently bearing the plight they were in, and somehow, the wordless martyr act was more disconcerting than if she’d spent all of her time dragging him around the ship by the ear and shouting at him.

He kept gritting his teeth and setting his jaw around her to hold back bitter remarks – _really, Your Worship, it’s that bad being stuck with me? Could be worse, y'know – could be stuck with Vader –_ until one evening, when she’d inexplicably come into the cockpit and sat down to watch him work, apparently for lack of anything better to do, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer and asked her, in as insensitive a manner as possible –

“What the hell’s the matter with you?”

She didn’t answer, and he sat up from re-calibrating a navigational system, turning to look at her irritably. She was looking at him in silence, her eyes wide, expression startled – probably because she hadn’t said anything at all, and he’d just lashed out at her.

Her eyes flickered when he caught her gaze, and she tightened her lips.

“I’m – I wasn’t – what the hell’s the matter with _you_?” she retorted finally, her brow darkening – she hadn’t said a word to him to provoke such ire, and he was looking at her like she’d spent the whole evening nagging at him – which she was specifically trying not to do, as she assumed he felt irritated and ashamed enough for this lack-of-hyperdrive situation.

Han threw his tools aside carelessly and turned towards her fully, scowling a little.

“You’ve been dragging your feet around this ship for the past five days actin’ like I chained you up here or somethin’ – it’s miserable, and I think I’d rather you punch me in the nose and get it out of your system – let me tell you, Sweetheart, I’m not thrilled about this either, but it’s the best I can do, and I’m sure you’d rather be here than back in a cell on a Star Destroyer – ”

He broke off when she turned her head away, hastily catching himself. He frowned, sitting back a little – _shouldn’t have said that._

He watched her put her hand against her neck and press tightly and he noticed, again, that she was holding herself awkwardly. After a moment, she turned her gaze back on him, eyes cool.

“I’m glad you got me away from Hoth,” she said shortly, and he was surprised, because he hadn’t heard a _thank you_ yet. “My current mood has nothing to do with you, though I understand it’s a huge shock that you’re not the center of my universe.”

Han blinked at her, feeling a little sheepish, and then shrugged a little, starting to turn and retrieve his tool. He started to go back to work, and then paused, and turned to look at her.  

“Why’re you just sitting there watching me?” he asked, exasperated.

She gave him another look of mildly confused disbelief.

“I have nothing else to do,” she answered slowly.

“So, what, you want to enjoy my company?”

Leia frowned, her hand clutching at her neck again in that odd way. Han’s gaze fell on it, perturbed by the action.

“I thought,” she began crisply, “I might learn more about ship mechanics from watching you work. It’s a useful skill.”

“Just from watching?” Han snorted.

“I learned diplomacy from my father _just from watching_ ,” she retorted sharply.

Han didn’t want to touch on that subject, so he shook his head, and turned back to the navigational computer – only to turn back again, tensely, and glare at her.

“So, you’re going to just sit there and – ”

“Am I making you _nervous_ or something?” she asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Han retorted emphatically, without really realizing what he’d admitted to.

Leia’s brows went up a little, and she pursed her lips. Han grit his teeth and looked up at the ceiling – _great, Solo._ He reached up to rub his jaw, and Leia shifted, winching, and got up. She ran her hand from her neck to her shoulder – she started to leave, muttering something about learning Shriywook instead, but Han turned more fully, eyeing her intently.

“Wait, Leia,” he mumbled, distracted. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, less caustically this time. “You keep pulling at your neck.”

She paused in the doorway, and then leaned against it, slouching, her fingers pressing into her shoulder.

“It hurts,” she muttered.

“What hurts?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

She looked at him blankly for a moment, and then appeared to decide she might as well continue.

“My back,” she said, “and my shoulder, and my neck,” she listed. “That cave that collapsed on Hoth…came down on me pretty hard,” she revealed.

She didn’t add that the bunks on his ship, while not entirely uncomfortable, weren’t very conducive to healing severe muscle strain, and neither were the positions she had to get in to help him with repairs. She didn’t want to complain about either of those things, though, because there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Han looked at her warily for a moment, and then frowned, concerned.

“I think I’m out of muscle relaxers,” he said, half to himself. “You want just a generic painkiller?”

She shook her head, sighing quietly.

“It won’t fix it; it will just mask it,” she said grimly. She rolled her head stiffly. “I just need to stretch them out,” she mumbled.

She felt silly complaining about such a minor issue in the midst of all this, so she smiled faintly and straightened, shrugging a little. He set his tool aside again, and stood up, catching her arm before she left.

“Well,” he started. “Your silent suffering is driving me insane,” he said bluntly. “If you need – I can – and I won’t try anything,” he broke off, and she blinked at him uncertainly, uncomprehending.

He could have kicked himself for sounding so tongue-tied, so he sighed, and went on a little roughly.

“Do you…well, I mean…I could give you a massage?”

Leia blinked at him, but she didn’t pull her arm away. She considered him a moment, and then her brow furrowed lightly.

“What?” he asked warily.

“I’ve never heard you sound so flustered in your life,” she remarked quietly.

Han let go of her arm and stepped back, glaring at her.

“Look, Princess, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to seduce you,” he said shortly. “I’m just offering to help.”

She kept considering him with that same look. She flicked her eyes down, and he thought she might have blushed a little. She nodded, and looked back up, her gaze fixating on something just past his shoulder.

“If you’d…be willing to do that,” she said cautiously, “I think it would help.”

Han nodded. He touched her shoulder, turned her, and pointed.

“My cabin,” he said. “Be there in a minute.”

She hesitated, and then she was off, her hand back at her neck again, as if holding it a certain way relieved the pain. He went to wash the grease off of his hands – why couldn’t she ever just admit when she was tired, in pain, hungry, upset – anything? He hadn’t realized she sustained an injury in that escape, and if he hadn’t pressured her about it now, he was sure she would have gone on not mentioning until it was discovered some other way.

Hell, Leia was the type of person to be bleeding out and still ask triage to treat the kid with the broken finger.

When he entered the cabin, she was sitting tensely on the edge of his bunk, her knees pressed together.

“Where’s the worst of it?” he asked, matter-of-fact, showing her his palms so she could assure herself they weren’t black and covered in dirt and grime.

She turned a little, gesturing to her right side.

“It’s…stiff and sore,” she told him.

He nodded and ducked down, sitting on the bunk with his back against the cabin wall. He drew one leg up and tugged at the sheets, pulling her in his direction a little.

“C'mere,” he ordered. For good measure, he added: “I swear, Leia, I won’t do anything you wouldn’t let a brother do.”

“I don’t have a brother,” Leia murmured, taking a deep breath and shifting backwards until she was sitting between his legs.

She fixed her eyes on his knee, and tense slightly when he rested his palms on her shoulders. He ran them down over her shoulder and frowned – her back felt knotted and rigid, and he grimaced, imagining the soreness that went with it. He started to apply pressure, and then pulled his hands back.

He hesitated, and she picked up on his uncertainty in the silence.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You need to take your shirt off.”

She resisted the urge to snap at him that he swore he wasn’t going to pull anything with her, but she quickly swallowed that response, because a logical voice in the back of her head reminded her that each time she’d had a massage back home, in Aldera, the masseuse had required she strip naked.

But that was a professional, and usually a woman, and this was –

Leia compressed her lips, and nodded, reaching up to her hair. She pulled a pin from part of it, and started unbraiding it.

“Leia, I said your shirt – ”

“Just hold on,” she said softly.

He leaned back, keeping his hands off of her, watching her unbraid and unbraid and stroke her hands through until her long, dark hair was messily tumbling down her shoulders and into his lap. He watched, fascinated, as she delicately stripped off her shirt, moved her fingers deftly behind her back to unclasp her bra, and then arranged her hair neatly over her shoulders so her back was exposed and so that, even if he looked at her front, he wouldn’t see anything but wavy brunette locks.

Still, this was the Princess sitting in front of him, half-naked, and he didn’t need to see much for his imagination to run away with him. He swallowed hard, hesitated, and then reached out to place his hands on her again.

“Damn,” he swore, really focusing on the damage to her back – a bluish bruise ran along her shoulder down her side; right near the base of her spine, it bloomed into a black-green colour, and Leia winced at his reaction. “Kest, Sweetheart, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Han asked, shaking his head.

His hands moved from her shoulder down her back in a firm, attentive touch that applied enough pressure to sting a little, and to loosen the knots in her muscles, but not enough to hurt.

Leia bowed her head, almost moved to tears of relief – the movements of his hands were so perfect. She found herself so absorbed in his ministrations that she didn’t snap at him when his hands slid up her sides and brushed the side of her breasts – she sensed he didn’t do it on purpose, anyway – she only shivered.

Han ran his knuckles up her spine, and smoothed his palm over her shoulder, kneading in a careful rhythm that, if he continued, would likely put her to sleep. She had her eyes closed when he cleared his throat, shifting behind her.

“Feeling better?” he asked quietly.

She murmured assent.

He laughed a little.

“I can’t believe you let me do this,” he ventured – it wasn’t so much her agreeing to the massage that shocked him, but her agreeing to remove her shirt and the things that went under it.

Leia tilted her head to the side, and he ran two fingers over her neck, gently working out the smaller kinks there. He could feel her pulse in his fingertips, and the vibrations of her voice as she spoke –

“You’re the _only_ one I trust to do this.”

It was quiet confession, but it was heartfelt, and he paused, taken aback.

“Me?” he asked skeptically. “What about Luke?”

Leia laughed a little.

“Oh, I don’t want to encourage him,” she murmured apologetically.

Han arched his brows – did that imply she was comfortable encouraging _him_? If she had reservations about doing anything, anything at all, that might get Luke’s hopes up, then having no reservations about Han might mean –

“What about a doctor?” Han asked, redirecting his thoughts.

Leia was quiet for a beat.  

“I do not like to be around doctors,” she answered succinctly.

Han nodded – his nose brushed her hair, and he realized, startled, just how close he’d leaned to her. Clearing his throat, he sat back a little, and focused all of his energy and attention on the bruise on her back.

“You need an ice pack for the bruise,” he said gruffly, “a hot pad to relax the rest of the muscles.”

He pulled his hands back, and she turned, her expression falling.

“You’re stopping?”

Han held up his hands, giving her a tight look.

“Leia,” he started, shaking his head tiredly. “I don’t trust myself,” he said bluntly.

Leia turned more fully, looking at him thoughtfully. Her hair covered everything and Han shifted, casually laying his arm across his lap. Leia flicked her eyes down at the motion and looked back up, her eyes tracing a line from his jaw to his brow.

Unexpectedly, she moved forward, and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She relaxed against him, skin seeming to burn through his shirt and brand his skin, and he lifted his hands almost in a panic.

“ _I_ trust you,” she said quietly.

He clenched his hands into fists, holding them hesitantly over her shoulders.

“Leia,” he asked, a little exasperated. “What do you want me to do with my hands?”

Had she forgotten she wasn’t wearing anything from the waist up – _was this a test of endurance, or of character, or – ?_

“Touch me,” she answered softly.

It was the last thing he expected to come out of her mouth, but he wasn’t about to question it – he rested his hands on her shoulders a moment, and then slid them over her, fingers getting caught in her hair as he explored bare skin – he kept expecting her to change her mind, jerk away and ask him to stop, but she seemed to need the affection, somehow, and instead of coming to her senses, she fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**34; “If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed.”**

* * *

 

Each time Leia twitched her elbow back, subtly connecting it with Han’s chest, he only paused for a moment, pausing to give her a look that plainly asked why the hell she’d worn a dress with such a low back if he wasn’t allowed to touch.

Then, his fingers resumed a lazy and blatantly seductive dance up and down her spine – she made it easy; that deeply ingrained, impeccable royal posture meant she never slouched, never leaned against the back of her chair, and there was plenty of room for his hand.

Slouching was his trademark, even at formal functions, even when she’d pulled several strings and had a nasty head-to-head discussion with Mon Mothma that ensured Han had a place at her side – even if he didn’t have an official title of his own, or an official attachment to her –

He appreciated the recognition, because he relished her throwing him in their elitist faces, but he hated, hated, hated these events.

Even Leia’s attention wavered, and she lifted a glass of some sort of sparkling, slightly heady cider as she feigned interest, her attention focused more and more on Han’s fingertips running over her skin.

She turned her head slightly, able to speak to him in a low voice _because_ of his dramatic lounging – he was practically sharing her seat, his head angled to the side, alternately admiring her bare back and flicking over to assess her elegant hairstyle and the shimmery, clingy-in-all-the-right-ways fall of the dress.

“The audacity of that hand,” she murmured.

“Got a mind of its own,” Han retorted, dragging his knuckles from the back of her neck down to the edge of the dress’ fabric.

“Mind your manners.”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

“What manners, Princess?”

Her eyes scanned the crowed in front of them – her title and station demanded a place of honor, and her demand that he be her escort placed him at her right hand.

“You’re being watched,” Leia advised – and he wasn’t being subtle; there were few who would miss him casually and continuously running his hand over her; she was the aristocrat here, but he sat next to her like he ruled.

Han followed her gaze, noting the bored expressions of the functions’ attendees, the occasional fixed gazes and furtive glances they shot up at him, either outraged at his social rise, or intrigued by Leia’s flaunting.

He sat forward a little, splaying his hand across her lower back, three fingers sliding teasingly beneath the fabric of the dress, and she tilted her head, lowering it to his ear.

“This dress is criminal,” he accused quietly.

She bat her lashes once, and smiled blandly.

“Is it?” she murmured, her expression conveying none of the content of the conversation.

He nodded, and leaned closer.

“It belongs on the floor.”

“And here I thought you liked it.”

“I can’t wait to get you out of it,” he promised.

“Hmm,” she murmured, lifting her chin a little and looking at the crowd – Han’s lack of discretion was completely out of line, but it sent a thrill rushing to her head.

“I’m going to take it off with my teeth,” he threatened.

She turned her head back, catching his eye, and bit back a smirk.

“Captain Solo,” she murmured fetchingly, “you really ought to pay attention.”

He shook his head, pulling her chair a little closer to his.

Leia spared a glance for those around her.

“Tone down the bedroom eyes, Han,” she whispered. “Everyone can tell what you’re thinking.”

“That I’m gonna drag you straight home and throw you into bed, and fuck you?”

Leia compressed her lips, turned her head, and caught his eye again.

“Han,” she said huskily, “if you keep looking at me like that, we’re not going to make it to a bed.”

“There’s a storage closet in the hall.”

Leia lifted her head gracefully, her cheeks colouring slightly, and Han grinned, sliding his hand back up her spine slowly. He hung his arm around her shoulder, a wicked smirk etched on his lips, and she let his arm stay where it was, because he’d earned the privilege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end !

**Author's Note:**

> -Alexandra


End file.
